ge of the Mint, and yet another enfilade of trees.

But the centre of the immense picture, that which rose most prominently
from the stream and soared to the sky, was the Cite, showing like the
prow of an antique vessel, ever burnished by the setting sun. Down
below, the poplars on the strip of ground that joins the two sections
of the Pont-Neuf hid the statue of Henri IV. with a dense mass of green
foliage. Higher up, the sun set the two lines of frontages in contrast,
wrapping the grey buildings of the Quai de l'Horloge in shade, and
illumining with a blaze those of the Quai des Orfevres, rows of
irregular houses which stood out so clearly that one distinguished the
smallest details, the shops, the signboards, even the curtains at the
windows. Higher up, amid the jagged outlines of chimney stacks, behind a
slanting chess-board of smaller roofs, the pepper-caster turrets of the
Palais de Justice and the garrets of the Prefecture of Police displayed
sheets of slate, intersected by a colossal advertisement painted in blue
upon a wall, with gigantic letters which, visible to all Paris, seemed
like some efflorescence of the feverish life of modern times sprouting
on the city's brow. Higher, higher still, betwixt the twin towers of
Notre-Dame, of the colour of old gold, two arrows darted upwards,
the spire of the cathedral itself, and to the left that of the
Sainte-Chapelle, both so elegantly slim that they seemed to quiver in
the breeze, as if they had been the proud topmasts of the ancient vessel
rising into the brightness of the open sky.

'Are you coming, dear?' asked Christine, gently.

Claude did not listen to her; this, the heart of Paris, had taken full
possession of him. The splendid evening seemed to widen the horizon.
There were patches of vivid light, and of clearly defined shadow; there
was a brightness in the precision of each detail, a transparency in the
air, which throbbed with gladness. And the river life, the turmoil of
the quays, all the people, streaming along the streets, rolling over the
bridges, arriving from every side of that huge cauldron, Paris, steamed
there in visible billows, with a quiver that was apparent in the
sunlight. There was a light breeze, high aloft a flight of small
cloudlets crossed the paling azure sky, and one could hear a slow
but mighty palpitation, as if the soul of Paris here dwelt around its
cradle.

But Christine, frightened at seeing Claude so absorbed, and seized
her